


To Be Near Ones Heart

by werewolfsaz



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, hurt!Agron, protective!Nasir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/werewolfsaz/pseuds/werewolfsaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The men from the hunting party were covered in blood, some with deep cuts to body and face. No game animal made those marks. His eyes swept the battered group, a ball of winter frost forming in his stomach when his eyes failed to find Agron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Near Ones Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i just had to write this because...well, basically, muse Agron has a loud voice and im tired of him yelling in my ear!  
> comments are lovely so please leave some  
> enjoy

Nasir stirred the broth one last time, reaching for bowls and bread as the thick liquid began to boil. Agron was always hungry when he returned from a hunt and the Syrian wanted his man’s stomach sated so that they may see to other desires. He heard the noise in the compound rise as people greeted the return of the hunting party. He hurried from the small house they had commandeered, eager to see his big gladiator, to be swept into his strong arms and kissed breathless. But as he hurried into the square, face alight with joy, something struck him as odd. The men from the hunting party were covered in blood, some with deep cuts to body and face. No game animal made those marks. His eyes swept the battered group, a ball of winter frost forming in his stomach when his eyes failed to find Agron.  
“Spartacus?” Nasir called, desperately trying to quell the panic rising in his chest. “Is Agron gone to the kitchen already? Was he so hungry from the hunt he could wait no longer?”

The Thracian’s face went soft and compassionate as he walked towards the smaller man.  
“There was a Roman squad passing through the woods as we hunted. They came upon us unawares. There was a skirmish. We slayed all. But not before they struck Agron.”  
The ball of icy fear in Nasir’s stomach blossomed like a poisoned rose into full blown terror. Pushing through the men crowded together by the gate he came upon the sight he feared most. His gladiator lay on a rude stretcher, a cloak forming a rough bandage over his heart, his chest slick with bright blood, skin beginning to go ash grey from loss of blood. Dropping to his knees by the stretcher the young Syrian reached a trembling hand out to brush over Agron’s stubbled cheek. Green eyes fluttered open, a weak smile crossing plump lips as they came to rest on the black haired man.  
“Can you believe? Struck down by a fucking Roman even as he lay dying,” the big man scoffed. That noise quickly became a deep, tearing cough that forced blood to Agron’s lips. Trying to keep his face a smooth mask, forcing the shivering in his muscles to still, Nasir moved the tightly wrapped bandage from around the big man’s chest, examining the wound.

It was deep, the edges ragged where the Roman blade had ripped out of tanned flesh. Swallowing the urge to gasp, to panic, to show any kind of emotion, the Syrian turned his head slightly.  
“Put blade to flame,” he barked. “We must seal the wound. And you must lie still while we do such,” he instructed Agron sternly.  
“Just as you say, little man,” the gladiator smiled, eyes slipping closed as he awaited brand of sword once more upon his skin. Bending close to that dearly beloved face, Nasir pressed a soft kiss to bloody lips and turned to take the glowing hot blade.  
“Do not fight the pain. If darkness swells before your eyes, let it take you.”  
“I fear not pain. Just fucking do it. I grow hungry,” Agron snarled, clenching his teeth.

Locking his eyes on Nasir, refusing to look away or cry out, the burly man took a deep breath as the blade touched his flesh. His body tried to pull away, to escape the pain and the stench of burning flesh but Agron was a gladiator, he refused to show any sign of weakness. Every muscle in his body locked rigid as the pain assaulted him. He focused on Nasir, on the way the sun caught in his dark hair, turning the black to the glossy blue of a raven’s wing, the way his dark eyes were bent to task. After what felt like an eternity the burning blade was removed and Nasir moved quickly to bind the wound anew.  
“Please carry him to the house?” he asked some who had not been in the fight. “I can attend him there.”  
The stretcher was picked carefully off the ground and carried towards the house.

***

“Spartacus? I would break words with you,” Nasir called one evening a few day s later.  
“Speak, my friend. How does my brother fare?”  
“Not well. A fever has set in and I fear for him. Is there any among our number who knows anything that could help?”  
Spartacus frowned then called out to Crixus.  
“Send word through the ranks, asking for any with knowledge of medicines. Hurry.”  
“Gratitude,” Nasir breathed, relieved. “I will return to him now.”  
He hurried back to their home, pausing just inside to run worried eyes over his lover. Agron was drenched in sour smelling sweat, blood mixed with pus still forming in the wound. His green eyes were fever bright as they locked onto the Syrian, one big hand reaching out for him.  
“I feared you had left me,” he croaked, coughing harshly. Nasir hurried forward, scooping water from a waiting jug.  
“No, I went to speak with Spartacus and beg him to find a medicus.”  
“You should never beg,” the big man snapped.  
“You need proper care. And I will do whatever it takes to get that,” Nasir snapped back.

Agron’s eyes softened suddenly, one huge, hot hand coming up to cup his cheek.  
“You have been so attentive. The gods must favour me indeed, to have sent me you.”  
“Would you have me leave you to sicken and die? Do not think so hard on it. You must rest. Do you require food?”  
The gladiator’s face turned a little paler and he shook his head slowly.  
“No food. My stomach aches at the mere thought. A little more water would be gratefully received however.”  
Nasir held the cup to those plump but bloodless looking lips, watching his lover guzzle down the water as if he had not drunk for days.

With a sigh Agron sank back down, glittering eyes still fixed firm upon the smaller man, studying his face carefully.  
“And what do you look at with such intensity?” Nasir asked with a warm smile, dampening a cloth to wipe away the sweat on the beloved face before him.  
“The most beautiful thing I have ever set eyes upon. Why you chose me above all others remains a mystery but one I would gladly never solve.”  
“You speak as if you lay on your death bed,” Nasir scolded gently. “You have a slight fever. Once the medicus arrives you shall surely feel foolish for these words.”  
“I would have you hear them nevertheless.”

Agron’s gripped the Syrian’s hand roughly, pulling it up to rest on his feverish chest.  
“This heart beats only for you. In any number of battles I could have fallen if not for the fact that I had to come back to you. To see your face, hear your voice call my name, feel your skin under my hands once more… I would wade through lakes of blood for just one kiss.”  
“Agron…” Nasir started, confused by the sudden outburst.  
“I love you, Nasir. From the moment I saw you in that dominus, I knew I could not rest until I had you in my arms, my bed and my heart.”  
At that moment Spartacus appeared in the doorway with thin, grey haired old man.  
“The medicus is here. Come outside, Nasir. Let him work.”

***

The medicus worked through the evening and late into the night. Spartacus used the time to train Nasir on some of the finer points of swordsmanship, trying to distract him from thoughts of his lover. Finally the old man found them by the cooking fires, his face grave.  
“There was much poison in the wound. I drained it, cleaned the wound and put on a poultice. He is sleeping easier now. He was slipping into delirium but that should pass by the morning. I left another poultice for you to apply when he wakes.”  
“Much gratitude,” Nasir thanked, even as his heart twisted like a poisonous snake in his chest. “How can I repay you?”  
“I ask only that you aid him back to full health. Agron is a great fighter and will spill much blood for those of us too advanced of years to do so now.”  
“Then I shall do as you ask.”

As the old man took his leave, Nasir turned to find Spartacus’ eyes upon him, shrewd blue orbs that noticed all.  
“Why such sadness in your eyes? I thought news of Agron’s recovery would bring happiness not its opposite.”  
“It is nothing. Just some of the things he spoke… it must have been the fever forcing his tongue to give voice to falsehoods,” Nasir sighed, casting his eyes to the heavens as if to find the answer in their velvety dark throat.  
“Not all things spoken in delirium are false. Deep, heartfelt confessions of love and are often true when fever causes the tongue to loosen. Perhaps it is best to speak on the subject again, once his mind is restored.”  
Looking up at the softly smiling Thracian, Nasir felt his heart lift slightly. With a smile and a murmur of gratitude, he turned for home and his gladiator.

***

“Please tell me I managed to kill whatever shit ran over me with an oxen cart,” Agron groaned when he woke, covering his smarting eyes to ease the pounding in his head. Nasir, hearing his grumblings from the kitchen, hurried to his lover’s side, dropping to his knees and placing one cool hand on the big man’s brow.  
“The fever is gone,” he grinned, bending to place a chaste kiss on Agron’s lips. The gladiator tried to pull him closer but the Syrian pushed him down with a laugh. “No, you must lay still. I will clean the wound and place the other poultice on. Then you must each something.”  
“I know what I hunger for,” Agron leered, his eyes travelling over dark skin hungrily, making Nasir laugh and blush at the same time.  
“Is that all you think of?” he chuckled.  
“It is when you are near me.”

Reaching out, Agron gripped the smaller man’s arm, tugging him close, eyes searching his face.  
“What troubles you so? Were you so distraught by my injury?” he grinned, trying to bring mirth to his lover’s face.  
“In your fever…You spoke words of…You said…” The Syrian paused, unsure how to continue. Agron wrapped one hand around his slender neck, pulling him close until their foreheads were pressed together.  
“You mean when I said I love you,” he murmured. They were so close their lips brushed as the gladiator spoke. “I remember. Do you doubt me? Did you think that it was merely empty, feverish ramblings?”  
“Yes,” Nasir whispered. He wanted to close his eyes, to break this moment, to force it away. But Agron’s eyes were hypnotic, capturing his gaze like a glowing green net.  
“Then let me make myself clear for I would have no misunderstanding between us. I love you. You hold, in the palms of these delicate hands, my heart, my soul, my very reason for living.”

The big man’s words were cut off as Nasir pressed forward, crushing their lips together in a desperate, passionate kiss. He could barely break away but eventually he pulled back enough to catch his breath, chest heaving even as his vision was obscured by tears.  
“I love you,” the Syrian breathed. “My heart is empty when you leave me for but a moment. I wish to be by your side, in this word and the afterlife…If you will have me.”  
Feathering kisses over cheeks, eye lids and lips, Agron groaned as his body fought between pain and desire.  
“I would not be without you for anything, in this world or the next.”  
“Then, next time, be on your guard for fucking Romans and move faster,” Nasir laughed, kissing his man one last time before rising to gather the things he needed. The sound of Agron’s hearty laughter filled his ears until they rang and his heart until he was sure that not even the gods could bring such joy. Life was good.


End file.
